


A Dragon's Dreams: Fire and Blood

by ABirdWithoutFeathers



Series: A Dragon's Dreams [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dragons, Euron Greyjoy is His Own Warning, F/M, Gen, Jon Snow is Azor Ahai, Jon Snow is King in the North, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Mad Queen Cersei Lannister, Mad Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prophetic Visions, R Plus L Equals J, Tags Contain Spoilers, Valyria, Visions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:14:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABirdWithoutFeathers/pseuds/ABirdWithoutFeathers
Summary: My very first fic, so apologies in advance.After the events of A Dance WIth Dragons, Jon Snow wakes up in a cell in Meereen after receiving some unusual visions. Daenerys sets sail for Westeros only to find another Targaryen waiting for her. Tyrion will embrace his darker side and Sansa finds herself in the middle of a civil war.Somehow, Jon Snow finds himself needing to unite the realms of men to defeat an existential threat.We got lots of politics, and magic, tons of visons, and eventually a fight with the Others. Not that swishy flick nonsense where it's over in an hour and no one knows anything about the Night's King. That will be in part two, however, part one is about human conflicts. PS: I'm a BIG Euron and Jon fan, so heads up.
Relationships: Aegon VI Targaryen/Daenerys Targaryen, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow & Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Margaery Tyrell
Series: A Dragon's Dreams [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826467
Comments: 24
Kudos: 54





	1. Prologue

“Well, this is quite the disaster,” Jon heard someone say.  _ Winterfell. _ He was outside his family’s ancestral seat. He wanted to go there, see his family. He knew his father was in there, and Robb and others too. He wanted to go to them. “Not yet, we haven’t even had a proper discussion.” Someone said again. Jon tore his eyes from Winterfell and turned around. There was a man, or was it a woman? A figure with a shifting face sat by a hearth staring into the flames. His voice failed him so instead, he just sat across from the figure. They sat there for a few moments just staring into the pale flames.

“Am I dead?” Jon asked quietly. The figure looked up at him. 

“Unfortunately, yes. But that shouldn’t matter much,” Jon opened his mouth but no sound came out. “Listen to what I have to say. That was a terribly foolish thing you did on the Wall, there is much more at risk than yourself. I am running out of time and so are you. You’ve seen what lies beyond the Wall,” It wasn’t a question, just a fact. “You weren’t my first choice, far from it, but probably the one with the most likely chance of success. Even so, it seems you might need a bit of help. I’ll do what I can, mostly minor things, but they will help you greatly in the end. But first, I need you to make me a promise.” Jon’s throat clenched and felt dry. He wanted water but didn’t think he would be able to keep it down. To whom was he talking to? Was he truly dead? All he could manage was a nod. 

“Swear to me, by all the Gods you hold to and even those you don’t, that you will bring the dawn. Defeat the threat to the north. No matter the cost.” 

“I would lay down my life-”

“No, not your life, the lives of others. Would you send thousands to their deaths for the greater good? Would you kill your beloved family if it meant safety for others?” Jon hesitated and looked longingly at Winterfell. Would he? He could practically see them all now. Little Arya running through the godswood, Robb laughing as they japed during swordplay, young Bran climbing all the walls of Winterfell, wild Rickon playing with his direwolf, and Sansa dreaming of knights with snowflakes in her hair. Would he let anyone of them die to save the others? What would his father do? Then Jon had his answer. 

He nodded.

“I swear it by all the gods.” The figure seemed satisfied with that answer. 

“Then I have instructions for you. The realm **must** be united. If not, we will lose. I’ve watched you for quite some time, and you have the potential for exceptional leadership. You will have to get better at it, however. You will have to improve with sword and shield dagger. You will need to sharpen your tongue as well as your blade. You will not be the same man who died at Castle Black when you awake, especially after this conversation.” Jon ran a hand through his hair and white flashed before his eyes. 

“You will have the hardest years of your life ahead of you. You will want to give up or run away, but I know you will remember your promise. Don’t fail me again. If you fall, I am out of options. I don’t think I need to remind you what is at stake?” Jon shook his head. 

“I will not fail you. I will not die and I will defeat the Others. They  **will not win** .” Jon said it with such conviction he almost inspired himself. The figure had no mouth, but Jon could feel a smile. 

“There it is. The spark. You will have to use that to light the biggest fire the world has ever seen. This will not be the last time you hear from me, you will dream most nights but it won’t be me you speak with. The North Remembers, as must you. Now my prince, be reborn,”

Jon awoke with a gasp. 


	2. Be Reborn

**Jon**

Jon sat up with a jolt almost launching himself across the room. He gasped trying to take in as much air as possible. He struggled to regain himself. He felt like he had been trampled by a horse.  _ Where in seven hells am I?  _ Then his memories came crashing down on him with the force of a thousand storms. Daggers in the dark and a letter sealed in pink. And the cold. The figure that sat by the hearth that made him promise. _ Unite the realm? I would become a different man? _ Jon felt his body. Nothing felt all that different. Did he ever truly die? Was it some vivid fever dream?  _ No, you had more than one dream remember?  _

  
  


Jon Snow walked around an ice-white and black field staring up at stars of red and grey stretching as far as the eye could see. He felt at home here, almost more so than Winterfell and definitely more than Castle Black. He paused at the thought. Castle Black was his home was it not? Of course, it could never be again, it was where he had been… they had…… But, even before, it had never truly felt like home. He felt partially at home in Winterfell, but it always felt like there was another half that was missing from his life, one he didn’t even know about. 

From behind him, his thoughts were interrupted by an incredible heat. Jon spun around.  _ It is very queer to feel touch and temperature in dreams _ he thought, but any thoughts that might have crossed his mind very quickly were snuffed out by the heat’s source. A great monstrous beast made of rusted iron swords stood with startling purple eyes. Jon could feel it branding his very soul, all of a sudden knowing him completely.  _ A dragon.  _ Jon stumbled back trying to remind himself that this was all a dream. The beast moved back and spread out its great wings. Jon should have been afraid, but he felt strangely calm. The amalgamation turned away from him and fashioned his wing an incline so Jon might climb on. His breath left him. Jon felt an overwhelming urge to approach the creature and his feet moved forward. He forced himself to breathe as he climbed onto it’s back grabbing onto the swords protruding from its wings. He grabbed them very lightly so he wouldn’t cut himself. 

It was a terrible creature, but once he sat down he felt oddly at peace. The dragon started to move forward and Jon instinctually grabbed for its horns which happened to be sharp blades. He wasn’t cut however. The air became suddenly cold and snow began to softly fall. Jon saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Instinctually, he reached for Longclaw but instead pulled out a dark blade he didn’t recognize. Before he could take a second look at the sword, a small army of wights ran out at him from all directions. The dragon rained dark, purple fire across the field scorching the army to ruins. The wights tried to climb atop the dragon, but the swords that made up the dragon cut at any who tried to climb atop it. Only a few that got cut preserved to the top, only to be met with Jon and his blade. 

Then, he recognized some of the faces of the wights. The blade slashed through a queen with silver hair and the Queen Cersei, their hands cut and bleeding as they struggled up. His father looked at Jon with bright blue eyes as he tried to pull Jon off the dragon. A wight came up behind him grasping at Jon’s wrist trying to wrestle the sword from him. Jon turned around and slammed his fist into the undead creature causing it to stumble down the dragon. It crumpled on the ground and wouldn’t be getting back up.

_ A dragon protects its own.  _ Jon thought but it wasn’t his own. More and more wights came and faster and faster they were cut down. He felt strength flow through his arms. Wolfsblood his father had called it, but this felt more primal, more raw, like fire in his blood… 

There was soon naught left but ash across the field and Jon started to feel the dragon move under him. Jon ran his hands along the blades that covered the dragon to find not a drop of blood had shed. He gripped the swords protruding from the d- no  _ his _ dragon. He could not say why, but he knew it was his. His dragon ran forth and leaped into the air beating its wings, swords clanging together as they climbed higher and higher. _ This was home, _ Jon decided. He felt wind rush through his silver hair as together, they chased the stars…

Jon thought that would have been the end of his dreams, but he was quickly proven

wrong. Suddenly, he was back at the courtyard in Castle Black. He looked down at his body to see blood seeping through his clothes. 

“Ghost,” Jon cried out as he collapsed onto the ground. Whereas before, he had felt the daggers and then the cold, now he felt no pain. The blackness that had taken over him the last time did not come and he merely lay there in the cold doing nothing but watch. Those who he had considered brothers and free folk fought each other through the night. He heard the pained howl of a wolf nearby. After all the fighting was done and light returned to the world, The Red Woman stepped towards Jon with pursed lips. She knelt down towards him and looked him in the eye. 

“I tried to warn you, Jon Snow,” She sighed. “Lucky for you, the Lord’s not done with you yet.” She reached down and gently closed his eyes. 

Jon felt his feet hit sand and suddenly he was in a desert. He spun around to look for life and saw red mountains and a red tower guarded by men in white. He heard a woman cry out and raced up the steps. Blue roses littered the steps to the top and he saw a woman that looked a lot like Arya in bed with a silver-haired man, panting. Their faces were red and smiling. The man leaned over to the woman and planted a kiss on her cheek. She grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly. 

“We should name her Visenya, to complete the trio.” The man suggested rubbing her stomach. The woman shook her head.

“Him. It’s going to be a boy.” The woman said confidently.

“How do you know?” The woman smiled.

“I can tell. We should call him Aemon, after The Dragonknight and the maester you used to write”

“I like Jaeherys. For my grandfather.” The woman smiled warmly. 

“Well, we have all the time in the world to talk about it.” She leaned over and passionately kissed the man. Jon noticed for the first time they weren’t wearing anything and felt his face flush. He took one last look at the couple who seemed so happy, then turned away as if to hide tears. 

Jon could see nothing around him but black. He wasn’t even sure if he was on solid ground. He looked around him for some sort of sign but saw nothing. 

“Hello?” He called out. He heard only his voice echo back at him. He tried to wake himself up to no avail.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow.” Jon spun around and saw no one.

“Ygritte?” he croaked his voice laden with emotion. He felt a rush of wind in his face and began to hear more voices. 

“All they have taken from us, we will have it back.” a young man’s voice proclaimed. 

“Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.” 

“Rhaegar was the last dragon.”

“Our knees do not bend easily.”

“Beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time.” He recognized that voice… 

“When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone.” 

“His is the Song of Ice and Fire.”

“Dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power.”

“The Iron Throne is mine by rights.”

“...heir to the Iron Throne,”

“...sit the Iron Throne,”

“...claim the Iron Throne…” The voices shifted behind him and Jon turned around to follow them. There sat a pile of swords, jagged and rusted.

“Every kingdom was born of blood and iron,” 

“Take it.” A voice urged him on. Jon took a step forward. 

“...heir to the Iron Throne,”

“...sit the Iron Throne,”

“...claim the Iron Throne…” Jon walked forward. 

“Take it. Take it. Take it.” a thousand voices urged him on. 

“Everything is within your grasp,” one voice said.

“All you have to do is take it.” another said.  _ I will.  _ Jon thought. He was at the foot of it now. The Iron Throne. He wanted nothing more than to climb those steps. 

“Then climb.” A voice said. Jon felt compelled to give into his urges. He started to ascend the steps. He ran his hands over the hideous blades. They felt sharp but never cut. “The climb is all there is.” Jon reached the top. He looked behind him. 

“...heir to the Iron Throne,”

“...sit the Iron Throne,”

“...claim the Iron Throne…” the voices returned even louder. 

“Take it.” the voices demanded. “You must take it.” Jon sat down. 

  
  


His breathing picked up and he thought his chest might just collapse in on itself. Jon tried his best to regain his composure, his breaths becoming more and more even. Did any of it really happen? He had no way of knowing… Well, that wasn’t entirely true... Jon grabbed the bottom of his tunic and lifted it up with shaky hands.  _ Gods no, please.  _ His chest adorned four large scars, one of which was directly over his heart.  _ I’m dead. I’m dead.  _ There was no other explanation.  _ Be reborn.  _ Mayhaps he did die… 

Jon took a look at his surroundings. The walls were made of multi-colored bricks but were very faded. The room smelled of shit and piss. There was a small chamber pot in the corner that looked quite strange and a door that had iron bars for a window. Again Jon was faced with the question of where he was. Slowly he stood up and made for the door only to find it was locked.  _ Fuck.  _ He looked out of the room and saw two soldiers with spiked bronze caps.  _ That’s rather… queer.  _

“Excuse my intru-” Jon said, only half asking. They turned to him in surprise. 

“Fetch her grace.” the taller of the two said to the shorter. The shorter one ran off down the corridor.  **_Her_ ** _ Grace? What in seven hells? _

“Pardon, where am I?” His tongue fumbled with the words. 

“Prisoners do not speak.” He said plainly. He raised his spear and Jon ducked back into the cell. The end of the spear stopped just before the bars so Jon could not grab it.  _ Prisoner?  _ His mind raced to think of where he could be. It was rather hot in the cell, so he figured he wasn’t at The Wall. Hearing ‘her grace’ made him think King’s Landing, but several things didn’t add up. Jon sat down and put his back against the wall. First, there was no way he got to King’s Landing, why would he even be there? Also, the spiked caps and spears seemed rather… foreign. Sellswords perhaps?  _ You know nothing, Jon Snow.  _ He could almost see her fiery hair and wild smile. That reminded him of the dreams. Jon sighed. He could think of only four people that could be referred to as ‘her grace’. Selyse Baratheon at Castle Black, Queen Margery and Queen Cersei at King’s Landing, and if the tales were to be believed-,

There was a quiet sound of metal on metal and the door creaked open. In walked the two guards from before and a woman who stood just outside of the cell. One guard pointed his spear at Jon’s throat while the other firmly tied Jon’s hands in front of him with thick hemp rope. He didn’t resist. Then, the other put his spear at Jon’s throat, and only then did a woman walk in. She was about his age, differing in maybe a year in either direction. She was pale with silver-gold hair and purple eyes that seemed otherworldly. She wore a queer red silk dress with a golden fringe of tassels and stripes of shiny black to highlight her curves. It was no ordinary dress as it was only hung across one shoulder and looked unnecessarily hard to walk in. The purple-eyed woman took small steps as she entered. Jon felt like he should recognize her, as though she was some long lost friend. 

Jon knew who she was, the Dragon Queen. He had heard of some queer tales of three-headed dragons and a woman of striking beauty that was unmerciful and cruel. For a woman so far away, it was queer to hear so many tales.  _ Must be quite the woman  _ he supposed. Her eyes were amethysts that looked hatefully at him through the torchlight. She stared at him for a few moments, trying to decide what to make of him. 

“Your grace-” The silver queen eyed him warily.

“I should throw you to my dragons right now, they would make quick work of you.”  _ Well.  _

“And yet, you haven’t,” Jon said boldly. 

“No, I haven’t,” she agreed. “I need something from you first. Information” 

“Ask what you will, although I can’t promise I’ll have answers.” She glared at him. 

“Brave words for a dead man.” Jon froze.  _ How did she know? _

“So I am dead?” Jon asked. She gave him a queer look. 

“Not yet.” She eyed him warily. “Though I can fix that very quickly.” At that moment, Jon heard the boom of thunder. No, thunder did not shake the floor. It was followed by another boom. Could those be… could… no. He almost shook his head to get rid of the thought. Now was not the time to start believing in tall tales. The queen looked into his eyes Jon looked back defiantly. She shifted ever so slightly in her seat, almost unnoticeable. 

“Might I ask as to why I am being threatened?” Jon asked. The Queen narrowed her eyes, then laughed. It was a sharp thing that reminded him of a shrill flute. 

“You are a murderer and an intruder.” She spoke plainly. Jon felt his head spin like a coin. 

“Murderer?” He almost spat out. “So all Targaryens are mad? I was under the impression that it was just most of them.” The queen’s face puffed up with red and the guards picked up on it. They inched closer to Jon and he felt the shafts on the spears lick his neck. 

“Say the word and we shall cut his throat.” The shorter guard said. Her face was red but she waved them away all the same. They moved back but were still closer than they had been. 

“We should take him to visit my children, perhaps he shall reconsider his etiquette then.”  _ Children?  _ She leaned in a bit. 

“Now, who are you?” She asked him. “Besides a criminal. No, that is too kind a word, I shall have to think of a better one.” 

“My name is Jon. Your Grace” He added. “And I have not committed these crimes you accuse me of.” She stared at him with hard eyes. 

“Well,  _ Jon _ , have you ever seen a dragon?” She smiled wickedly.  _ Why, yes I have,  _ but Jon could not stop his eyes from widening at the thought of real dragons.  _ No, those are just tales spread by drunken sailors, everyone says so.  _ But he could not deny it made sense. The thunder, no they were roars. Jon could have swooned like a maid, there and then, but the intrigue kept him conscious. Slowly and carefully he stood warily eying the guards. His hands chafed against the tight ropes. Jon followed The Dragon Queen out of the cell and welcomed the clean air. She led him down twisting corridors all made out of the same faded rainbow brick. As they walked, Jon tried to process what she had said to him. Who did she think he had killed? How did he get to Essos? Dragons? It should have seemed impossible to Jon, but after seeing dead men in the night, he should not be surprised anymore. That was another reason he wished to see the dragons. If they truly were real, they could make quick work of the Others. 

“How did you come about dragons?” He asked her. She smiled sadly. 

“Only death can pay for life, Jon Snow, and it cost three lives for three dragons. I loved two of those I sacrificed, I loved them dearly. I’m not sure what you have heard of me but know this, I would never,  _ ever  _ wish upon my enemies what I have gone through.” She shook her head and looked at the colored ground. They were silent for a few moments with the exception of the sound of their feet hitting the ground. 

“If you could undo it all, get back those you loved in exchange for the dragons, would you do it.” She looked at him thoughtfully and paused. 

“In a heartbeat.” She avoided his glance after that. He could have sworn he saw her blush, perhaps at her honesty. “You must refer to me as Your Grace, I am the Queen after all.” Jon sighed.  _ And to think I was getting somewhere.  _

“As far as I know, there are only two queens in Westeros, Queen Cersei, and Queen Margery.” She continued to avoid his gaze. 

“Not anymore, and I am not in Westeros yet.” She then stopped in her tracks as they approached a large bronze door. She turned to him and met his eyes once more. “Do you care not for your life? I could end you in a moment and no one would bat an eye. I should and I most likely will. The only reason you continue to draw breath is because I must figure out how you got into the Great Pyramid unnoticed. You are on a block, and I hold the sword. So why do you disrespect me? I think I know, you expected to die when you charged into a crowd of Unsullied and Dothraki. You must have been so ready for death, so why should you care now? You don’t, but perhaps we can change that.” Jon blinked. Two more bronze guards swung open the doors and Jon was blinded by the light. 

“Drogon!” he heard her cry out. His eyes slowly adjusted to the light. He was in a… pit? There were charred bones and ash scattered across the ground that hid most of the sandy floor. There was a huge hole large enough for a dozen horsemen to ride through and so tall the top was shrouded in shadow. He turned his head from the hole to the queen, who was scolding a dragon with some scar-

_ Dragon.  _ No-no-no. It-. No. What? No. Tall tales. Gods. It was  **_massive_ ** . And. Black and red. A dragon.  _ Fuck it’s massive. _ She actually did it. A dragon.  _ I’m dead, there’s no other explanation.  _ The silver queen looked quite amused by Jon’s reaction but then quickly returned her attention to the dragon. Jon kept looking at it. No man should ever be allowed to lay eyes upon this creature. Gods. Jon blinked a couple of times. He had to regain himself. It’s just an animal.  _ But it isn’t, is it?  _ Westeros would burn if the beast should please.  _ And wights too.  _ The dragon had large scars adorning its body, red and hideous.  _ What could have done such a thing? _ Jon wasn’t sure he really wanted the answer to that. 

The Dragon Queen seemed to have forgotten him and was doting on the beast. Then a roar ripped the sky and a shadow descended into the pit. This one was green and copper and while was not as massive as the black one was still too large to have any right to grace the world. It came down upon them faster than he would have thought and quite nearly crashed into Jon. His body told him to flee, run and run and run until his legs melted away, but he stood his ground. He could feel The Dragon Queen watching him. 

For a half a moment, he feared that the dragon meant to eat him.  _ It would be a memorable way to go.  _ Rather, it came up to him like a house cat begging to be pet. Jon tried to raise his hands to perhaps touch it, but the dragon had other ideas. It took to the air and hovered over Jon before wrapping its iron claws around him. _ It’s going to cook me before it eats me.  _ He thought it was something Edd would say and Jon laughed. The dragon took him to the top of the pyramid and into some crevice in the wall. It soon became too dark for Jon to see anything. It put him down but wrapped its tail tightly around Jon refusing to let go. He struggled but knew he wouldn’t break free. 

For hours it seemed he waited up there, the Queen and her guards had tried to rescue him but failed quite miserably. The first time she brought at least 10 guards and three of them he watched die in the flames. The second time the Queen came alone and the dragon almost scorched her too. The third time Jon had smelled pork, burnt flesh and fire. Jon bid his time and one he was sure the dragon was asleep, wriggled out of his scaly prison, and ran. He felt along the walls and manage to find a small hole that led to the ground. He slid down it through it was rather steep and hit the sand on his rear. He only made it as far as the hole in the pyramid before getting captured by the queen’s guards. They brought him back to the Dragon Queen. 

“Your Grace, I suppose thanks are in order.” She raised an eyebrow. “You and your valiant knights attempted to save me from the dreadful dragon. Although, since you seemed so keen on feeding me to your dragons, I do wonder why you came to my rescue.”

“I need information from you first.”

“Truly?” They held each others gaze for a few moments, not breaking contact. 

“How did you do that?” She asked quietly. Jon sighed and had to stop himself from running his hand through his hair.

“I suppose I am just that charming Your Grace.” He said with a small smile. 

“Send him to his cell, wait- no. Find him a chamber. Put guards outside his door, he is not going to try and escape again.” 

“I thank you for your hospitality. Your Grace,” he said with a smile. The guards led him out of dragons’ pit and back into the pyramid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, give me criticism. If I don't have people telling me what is wrong I'll just drive myself crazy trying to fix things that aren't broken. Constructive criticism, however, please and thank you.


	3. Matters of Inheritance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! What a quick update!

**Jon**

He had sat on the edge of the bed for the better part of the day, trying to absorb a thousand things. Most primary of which was the fact he was halfway across the world with no memory of anything since his death.  _ Gods, that feels weird to think.  _ He wasn’t dead, that much was clear.  _ But that shouldn’t matter much.  _ That dream. It was so vivid and strange.  _ Would you send thousands to their deaths for the greater good? Would you kill your beloved family if it meant safety for others?  _ Yes, Jon had said. He still stood by that. But who on earth had he promised that to? Was it a vision? Magic? The Gods themselves? Had he conjured it up himself? Somehow he didn’t think so.  _ Don’t fail me again.  _ Who did he fail?  _ The North remembers, as must you.  _ What did he need to remember? He wanted to scream until his lungs gave out. He would drive himself mad with these questions. Jon felt a gap of time missing in his memory. He could not say for how long, but he remembered the anger. He remembered no more thought, just action and death. He remembered  **fire** . So much  **fire** . He remembered screams and smoke. 

He found himself remembering another dream. A great dragon made of swords that beckoned him forward on a black and white field with red and white stars. A throne made of swords that beckoned him just the same. He had wanted the throne the same way he wanted Winterfell. It was a fire in his chest and boiling blood that begged him to sit on it.  _ What happens when I give into my urges?  _ He wondered.  _ People die.  _ Another part of him said. His scars ached. It was time to plan an escape. 

**Daenerys**

She poured herself a cup of Dornish red and stared into its dark contents. It was a gift from her nephew who had beaten her across The Narrow Sea.  _ A token of good faith,  _ the merchant man had said. It reminded her of the wine she had used to conquer Yunkai.  _ I supposed that was the point.  _ She mused. Tyrion Lannister had warned her that Aegon intended to marry her once she landed in Westeros so they might rule together as king and queen. To think, she had traveled the length of Essos gathering armies and allies for an invasion, a task which had cost people their lives, only for Aegon to offer Westeros to her on a silver platter with the cost of her hand in marriage. Drogo had promised the same and that dream had ended in blood and fire. 

“Your Grace,” A voice said from behind her. She spun around in her chair. Tyrion Lannister stood in the doorway casting a long shadow across her dark room. “I am sorry to disturb you at this hour, but, I heard of the…” He paused for a moment considering his words. “Incident with the dragons,” she sighed. The afternoon had stumped her and everyone else. Rhaegal comes back the same day as the boy breaks into the pyramid, Rhaegal then almost killed Drogon trying to burn the city. She had come back with the Dothraki less than a fortnight ago and already problems were stacking up. A failed assassination attempt, Aegon’s return from the grave, and 50,000 men and their horses to feed. Tyrion had warned her that if she tried to conquer Westeros, she would be seen as an invader rather than a liberator. 

“The people here love you because you freed them, but the men and women of Westeros are under the impression that they are freemen, and you have nothing but death to offer them,” 

“You said you cared not for the smallfolk,” She challenged. He shrugged.

“I don’t, but I serve you and if you wish to help people, then so shall I. What you dream I shall build, for the small price of my sister’s life.”

She had very much wanted to kill him. Her brother had killed her father, his father killed her niece and good-sister, he was being charged for two accounts of kinslaying, wished to kill his sister, and was a kingslayer. She could not bring him to Westeros if she wanted any love from the people. 

“Oh yes, you could kill me, but on what charges?” He asked. She had to force her mouth from falling agape. She told him his charges and he laughed.

“Should someone kill you because of your father's actions? What about your brother? Should the Starks kill you because of what your family did to them?” She considered that for a moment. 

“You are still a kinslayer,” she pointed out. 

“I did not kill my nephew, contrary to the belief of the populus, and you should be most thankful I killed my father.”

She had no argument for that, and in exchange for his lifelong services, she offered him his sister’s life should they capture her.

“She will not go to the silent sisters, but to the block, that is all I can offer you,”

He had said that she was a queen and could do as she wished, but she stood firm. Against all rational thought, she had let him live and let him advise her. Now, he stood at her doorway at the late hours of the night talking to her about dragons. She could have laughed at the absurdity of being visited by the dwarf son of Tywin Lannister in the night, but instead, she wanted to weep. Drogon had almost died to save everyone from Rhaegal, and he had paid the price in scars. 

“I was wondering if I might have your permission to speak to the boy,” She looked up from her wine. 

“Why would you like to do that?” She asked. 

“This is a rather… peculiar situation we have on our hands. The boy is an enigma, one I wish to solve,” 

“At this hour?”

“Yes, your grace,” she sighed. 

“You have my permission, Lannister,” she removed the key from her desk drawer and handed it to him. He nodded and left her chambers. She was again left alone in her chambers no company but the buzzing of locusts. She turned back to her wine and emptied the cup. It was rich and sweet and ran thick down her throat. Her stomach hurt and she blew out the candles in her room. As she settled down in her bed, she heard the faint roar of a dragon.

**The Dragon’s Man**

An autumn storm had come to challenge the castle that night, and waves hit the walls with the force of a dragon. The rain rang loud throughout the castle, but the men inside were feasting too loud to hear. 

“A toast!” A man cried out from beside him. Harry Strickland raised his wine cup yet again to praise a snowstorm beyond the wall or the crabs in the narrow sea. Jon tiredly raised his cup once more. “To the griffin and his guile!” The men cheered throughout the hall. He drank long and deep in a hopeless attempt to forget. His king laughed at some jape made by Edric Storm.  _ No, he is Edric Baratheon now, I must remember that.  _ The new lord of Storm's End had come on a Pentoshi ship all the way from Lys, a gift from the Magister. The boy sat to his right, placing himself between Aegon and himself. Arianne Martell, the heiress to Dorne, sat on Aegon’s other side. Throughout the night she had laughed at his jests, touched his arm as often as she could, and wore a dress so thin, he worried that if she stepped outside the rain would melt away the silk and leave her skin bare. 

The night soon wore itself out and drunk men fell asleep on tables. Whores quietly left their arms and servants gathered up the empty cups and plates. Edric had slipped away an hour earlier and Arianne excused herself to her chambers. As Jon got up to leave the empty hall, Aegon stopped him. 

“Can we meet in my solar?” He asked and for a moment, he looked no more like the King of Westeros, but the boy Griff. 

“Of course, your grace.” Jon followed him down the empty halls, the only sounds coming from the hard rain hitting the darkened windows. The solar was technically Edric’s but he had not so much as entered the room since arriving, spending most of the time with Eila Sand who had arrived with the Princess. Aegon sat down in a chair that was so large it could have swallowed him whole. 

“Jon, I’m not quite sure how to put this,” He said squirming in the seat.  _ He is going to ask me to be his hand.  _ Jon thought. He sat up slightly straighter. 

“Ask anything of me your grace, I am your man,” He offered. Aegon looked up at him and looked as though he had suddenly been reminded of his status.

“Please Jon, call me Aegon in private, you raised me as a son,” He said and Jon felt a stab of pride. He could see his prince in those eyes. “I mean to marry Arianne.” He said firmly. Jon felt the wind get knocked out of him. Suddenly, he was back in the Red Keep, in the tower of the hand reading the letter from Rhaegar. His good hand shook and he had to grab his cloak to keep it still. 

“Aegon, please, as your father’s friend, as a lord, as a man of experience, as  _ your father,  _ please reconsider,” Aegon had a sad look in his eyes, losing his resolve. 

“Jon, I love her, it would be a good match-”

“Your father did the same thing once you know,” Jon said harshly. That made Aegon stop. “He loved the Stark girl so much, they ran off together. They married, you know? He annulled his marriage to your mother. I watched the High Septon sign the papers himself damn it! I approved it in the king’s stead. Do you know what happened because of that? Thousands died. Small folk, knights, lords, it made no matter. All for love. Things could have gone so much differently. Your sister and mother would have lived, your father, all the Starks, and thousands more. If you marry Arianne, Daenerys will wage civil war on this continent. We may win, we might even gain control of her dragons, but thousands will burn. Arianne may die and the war would have been in vain. Arianne, Edric, me, Duck, Lemore, Haldon, all of us could die. Please Aegon, please,” He didn’t remember standing up. He broke out of his trance and saw wet in the boy’s eyes. Jon collapsed in the chair and sighed. He hadn’t meant to tell the boy about the marriage, but if he married the Princess, Westeros would burn, and so might Aegon. He had to make sure Aegon lived long enough to see his children grow up. For him to grow old, and maybe even fall in love. If Aegon died, Rhaegar would die with him. The boy looked up. 

“Did my father not love my mother?” He asked quietly. Jon sighed.

“They were… fond of one another, but you must understand it was a political match, not one for love.” Aegon nodded. 

“Well, the conqueror had two wives-”

“That was a different time, your grace,” Aegon gave a small smile. 

“I might just marry her anyways if you keep calling me your grace.” Jon chucked. Aegon sat back in his chair. 

“What do you know of my mother?” He asked. Jon thought for a moment. 

“She was too kind for this world, she wanted a better world and wanted to make it as queen. She knew it might take years, but she said once, ‘I want our children to inherit a better world, and if we can’t make it, we will have to try until we are naught but ash and bone’. She would have made a good queen,”  _ But Rhaegar deserved better, and he knew it.  _ “She was sharp though, don't mistake that.” Aegon nodded. 

“Do you, do you think she would have been proud of me?” he asked softly. Jon nodded. 

“Aye, I know she would.” Jon smiled warmly. They sat there in a comfortable silence listening to the waves crashing against the walls and the whipping wind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Dornish red has significance, I promise. I added some stuff in the tags but as I develop the story I'm going to add more. I would like to mention that this is going to be 90% book 10% show. The most significant thing I kept from the show is Jon going Hardhome before he dies, but we'll get into that later. I kept some other minor things, but nothing too important.


End file.
